


January 12th

by revenant_oozi



Series: Dates We Don't Mark [2]
Category: Avengers (Comic)
Genre: F/M, Injury, Married Sex, Slight Femdom, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:46:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenant_oozi/pseuds/revenant_oozi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best sex is always the '<i>holy god we almost just died today</i> sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	January 12th

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dazzledfirestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzledfirestar/gifts).



> Timestamp meme _Eight weeks before[October 12th](https://archiveofourown.org/works/405276)_

The best sex is always the ' _holy god we almost just died today_ sex. That hurried rush of adrenaline and need to feel over each other and just make certain they were okay, bodies bruised but not broken. Arguably, it's how they got married in the first place. The difference being that nowadays, Clint can actually hear it when she suggests they rip their clothes off and find the nearest heart-shaped hot tub.

So maybe the other difference happened to be that hell, they were married now, condoms were for high school kids. And occasionally, the daily brushes with death and erratic sleep cycle had made pills too hard to track.

Bobbi throws him against the wall, lungs working overtime as she yanks off the quiver and cowl, refusing to separate her mouth from his by holding his jaw firmly in place. Fingerless gloves make a grab for her hips before retracting like a burn victim, "Bobbi, you- _ahh_! Sure you're okay?"

She rolls her eyes and continues trying to get him naked, though it isn't met with much resistance, "Baby, shut up."

Luckily her costume is much easier to wrestle out of, but Clint finally recovers from being physically thrown onto the bed, he hisses a wince at her standing in front of him, "Oh, Birdie... That doesn't look good." The frantic sexual tension is thrown off more than she'd like by him reaching out a calloused hand to pull her closer, resting them far too gently on her hips to examine the boot-shaped bruise forming just to the lower left of her torso.

"Clint, it's fine." It's not fine, it hurts and it's clearly deep-tissue, but it'll hurt worse later and she'd like to get some good sex outta the way before she couldn't even sleep on her stomach. "Now man-up you scruffy looking nerf-herder, you start treating me like a girl and I'll make you _act_ like one." There is an evil little smile attached to that, and Clint's nerves settle some, "Love you, too, Birdie."

He's already hard enough to cut glass, doesn't need any encouragement, but Clint is fully aware he's married to a pro. She keeps her boots on, pushes one against his chest as she uses her belt to secure his wrists above his head, biting her way down his torso and thumbing over each rib like she has to count them. That sneaky little smirk never flinches, licking at the V-shaped muscles of his abdomen that tense and twitch like they're trying to get closer to the attention.

"I- _fuck_ , baby, isn't now when you say... somethin like, 'aren't you a little short for a stormtro- _oh god..._ " She chuckles around his cock, and despite the vibrations, it's not enough, needs to touch her, to be closer, needs to feel that she's still there and whole and _his_. Arms strain against their bonds, but as always, she's a pro.

She removes her mouth and he almost whimpers, but theres no time to think when she's wrapping those perfect fingers around him and slowly sliding him into her, settling on top of his hips with toned thighs he wishes he could grab onto. Getting used to the addition, she leans close, the malice gone from her smile with a hand threading through his hair and a soft press of her lips, "I'm okay, baby. I'm okay." It's whispered, and he shudders, starting to really hate the restriction of movement on his part, but then she starts to _move_ and he doesn't have the mind to complain.

Bobbi's pace starts out quick, riding him close and twisting her hips, barely letting him pull out of her. He tries his best to match her, but his efforts are thwarted by a firm hand pressing his chest down and the other holding his hips and _god_ she feels good. She starts to slow, grip relenting a little and freeing his body to react, but when he manages to crack his eyes open, her face is more drawn than teasing.

He knows better than to mention it again, she'd just shrug off the injury and put him in a dress. Or worse, climb off the bed and leave him there.

Using the belt as a friend instead of foe, he pulls himself up just a little, arms flexing with tightly packed muscles built on years of archery, just enough leverage to take more control of the pace thats set.

It's only so long she can try to hold out before she's pawing frantically at his wrists, screaming and spasming her release, body moving of it's own accord and putting his cock in a strangle-hold until he's coming a few thrusts behind her.

Her thighs release the vice grip on his hips, slowly arching her back to ease the strained vertebrae and lamenting the void left when she lets him slide out of her. The belt is unwound with shaking fingers and he wastes no time in pulling her to him like a kidnapping victim reuniting with loved ones.

_I love you. God, I love you..._

Glazed blue eyes and sweat-tipped blond hair is everywhere, but once breathing is back to normal and nerves have settled into a lull of drowsiness, he eases her onto back, pressing silent little kisses down her neck, over her sternum, licking at a nipple before stopping at her navel, breath ghosting over the purpling flesh there.

"Birdie-" "Don't. Please, Clint, just don't."

She knows he doesn't mean anything by it, knows how he is when the adrenaline runs out and the anxiety starts to build, but right now, she just wants post-coital bliss, wants to keep that warm feeling in her gut and excited tingle in her toes as they twist lazily into the sheets in a heap at the foot-board.

He can't pull back the expression packed with concern and worry and little pride - at least one of them is the strong one, one of them won't break, won't let hurt tear them limb from limb. Instead of saying it, he finds an unbroken expanse of skin on the other side and sucks at it, smiling at the gasp and shudder it earns him for his efforts.

"If you can't walk tomorrow, I'd rather it be because of _me_..."


End file.
